


First Snow

by AceTrainerAlicia



Series: The Adventures of Jaina: A Faith Renewed [17]
Category: Runescape
Genre: F/M, Fatherhood, Mahjarrat, Pregnancy, Romantic Gestures, Second Age, Snow Day, headcanons galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 01:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8690962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceTrainerAlicia/pseuds/AceTrainerAlicia
Summary: In which Azzanadra is fascinated by the odd phenomenon that is snow (as well as the concept of using it to build sculptures with), and reflects upon his role in the lives of his children.





	

_18th of Novtumber, 422 of the Zarosian Empire calendar_

In the meager few years that his kind had spent on this new, bright world, Azzanadra had seen and heard many things that once he could never have fathomed existing—so many, in fact, that it was no longer possible to effectively speak the Freneskaen tongue even telepathically; there were simply too many words and concepts it lacked. Numerous such things were in the room with him now—the morning sun shining through the window, the vibrant and colorful tapestries and paintings on the wall, the multicolored mosaic tiles that comprised the floor, the black leather-bound hymnal he carried under one arm, the strains of the harps from a distant chamber that filled this sacred space with dulcet tones, to name but a few.

But what had gotten him to ponder unfamiliar new things that he could not have conceived of before was the sight of the outdoor courtyard through the window—or rather, the sight of the thick layer of white that now covered it completely, as tiny white particles floated slowly down from the sky. It was rather like the volcanic ash that frequently fell from Freneskae’s smoky skies, though there had never been quite this much ashfall—if there had, it likely would have partially buried the village—and the white layer seemed to sparkle and glitter where the sun shone upon it.

Azzanadra found himself standing in front of the window, unable to look away as he watched the white particles drifting slowly down. Why did this sight fascinate him so? Was it because it was new and different, because nothing like it had occurred before even on this world? Was it because it might be dangerous and therefore require strong magical efforts to keep at bay? Was it because it was so similar to Freneskae, a reminder of the homeland he might never again see? Was it merely a distraction from the strange chill in the air?

A strong part of him urged him to err on the side of caution and presume it to be dangerous. It showed no signs of ceasing, and if it continued, it would surely bury the entire Divine Palace! He must hurry, act quickly before it swallowed up the citizens and destroyed the whole of Senntisten… but how? What magic could possibly combat it? Could one Mahjarrat alone stave off so much of it? Should he call to his brothers telepathically for help with it?

He turned to look at the figure standing beside the hearth across from the window. “Your Holiness?”

The elderly human glanced back at him pensively, making his way towards him with the commanding poise and dignity befitting one of his position in the church. He wore rich robes of red, purple, and black, and his silver hair curled delicately from beneath his tall two-pronged priestly hat. “Yes, Pontifex?”

“This white substance I see outside,” Azzanadra said, motioning out the window. “It is falling in particles from the sky like volcanic ash, and much of the ground is already buried beneath it. Tell me, what is that? Is it dangerous? Where does it come from?”

His Holiness Silvius Cornelius, 19th Pontifex Maximus of the Imperial Zarosian Church, smiled broadly and let out a hearty laugh, his blue eyes twinkling like the white layer beneath the sun’s rays. “My good Mahjarrat friend, ‘tis the first snow of the year! I know not what the seasons were like in your homeland, but the coming of the first snow heralds the winter season. The snow is but rain that has frozen in the cold as it falls.”

“Frozen rain? So it is a strange form of ice…” Azzanadra gazed outside at the snow again. Never had he seen this much ice at once before. Had anything like this snow existed on Freneskae, ice magic would not have seemed quite so weak or useless—and there was a growing urge within him to go and manipulate the thick white layer, see just how much he could do with it. “As for my homeland, the weather in Freneskae was constant and unchanging—smoke, ash, and lightning always blotting out the skies. We did not see snow, rain, or sun.” He turned to look at the high priest once more. “Strange that we did not see this ‘snow’ in the Kharidian lands.”

“The lands of the Kharid are said to be far warmer than our own,” Silvius said, sliding his hands into his sleeves for warmth. “Their winters have no snow, and their summers have intense heat that could rival the market square on the hottest of days. I have not seen it for myself, merely heard the soldiers’ tales when they return from campaigns.”

“Indeed that is true,” Azzanadra said quietly, resting his head in his hand. “I have seen it, felt it, myself.” He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. The last thing he wished to think about was his tribe’s time in the Kharid, and the place was of little consequence now anyway; all that mattered was his duty to Zaros and the church. As he looked out at the snow to dispel the thoughts of the Kharid from his mind, he could not help but notice that it was high enough to block the entrances to the courtyard, and immediately he seized the opportunity to steer the subject back to it.

“As much as the snow intrigues me,” he remarked, “I see also that it could cause a multitude of problems. You say it comes every year; how, then, does the city function with it present? No one can cross the courtyard below, and if the streets are blocked as well, how are the citizens to be able to leave their homes or reach their jobs? Ordinary humans have not the magic to clear a path through this much ice.”

“Aye, and ‘twould be a waste of runes and manpower to use magic in that way,” Silvius said, nodding. “Fear not, for the street clearing will already be underway at this hour of the morn! Teams of mighty workhorses and hellhounds pull plows of wood and iron through the streets, while Avernic workers use their innate fire magic to melt as much of the ice and snow as they can. As for the courtyards, few attempt to enter them when there is snow; most simply take the long way through the halls.”

An eager smile crossed his lined face. “Ah, but ‘tis best that you behold how Senntisten greets the first snow of the season for yourself! Come, faithful Mahjarrat friend, and I shall show you! Once I have fetched my coat, of course.”

Part of Azzanadra wondered if indulging his curiosity like this would be giving into his desires and shirking his duty, but he knew the Pontifex Maximus would know the ways and wishes of Zaros better than he presently did. Besides, would it not be Zaros’ wish that his priests be knowledgeable of many things in order to keep the church running efficiently? No longer was he a leader of one tribe, but of several different races that he had yet to fully understand, and the Great Lord would not wish him to be ill-informed about how to lead and instruct them wisely.

When Silvius, bundled up in a thick fur coat, showed him outside and onto one of the many balconies of the Divine Palace, the Mahjarrat did not conjure a coat of his own; he noticed, as a brisk chill wind blew by and small particles of snow dusted his robe, that the freezing cold did not bother him as much as it perhaps ought to. In fact, it intrigued him further… could he perhaps already be attuned to the cold thanks to his particular skill with ice?

Removing the glove from his right hand, he reached skyward and let some of the snow fall into the palm of his hand. The tiny white particles melted into water droplets upon his skin, and curiously he drew more of the snow towards him and rubbed it between his fingers, noticing the odd powdery texture it had before it melted into mere water. Yes, this was indeed ice, and it felt strangely right to the touch, as if it were urging him to manipulate it.

“Do you see them?” Silvius motioned proudly to the square below. “Already the citizens are welcoming the snow to the holy city!”

Azzanadra nodded and joined his superior at the balcony. Looking down, he could see that there were many citizens in the square, the humans wrapped up in thick coats and the Chthonian demons draped in cloaks fashioned from the pelts of long-dead beasts as they made their way to work. There were those diligently clearing the snow from in front of shops and homes, both Avernic workers with fire magic and human merchants and shop owners with shovels. Groups of children were running about and playing in the snow, mostly humans who rather resembled small monkeys and bears in their fur and woolen coats, though there were also some young Avernic spawnlings and even a vampyre child or two who had not yet gone to bed with the sunrise.

He found himself watching the children intently as they gathered up the snow and molded it in their small hands. Some of the human children were fashioning small handfuls of it into balls, which they then threw at their companions while giggling, but others were manipulating more of it, forming it into larger structures. One group of children was laying the groundwork for a small fortress of snow, while several others shaped large mounds of snow into sculptures resembling humans or demons and placed small stones and branches into them to represent eyes and arms.

“What are the children doing?” he asked, telekinetically drawing more snow to his hand. “What is the purpose of those constructs of snow they are making?”

“’Tis typical child’s play,” replied Silvius, closing his eyes in ponderance. “In my youth, I too sculpted various beings and fortresses of snow! Though, I must confess, I preferred pelting the other boys with it. The sound of the snow fizzling and turning to steam as it struck a young Alyaroth squarely in the back… how heartily did I laugh at that sound!”

It was difficult to imagine such a wise and respectable individual engaging in childish behaviors, although there were paintings in the temple of him as a younger man (as well as paintings depicting the eighteen before him to hold the position of Pontifex Maximus). Still, it would not have been that long ago that Silvius would have been a mere boy, perhaps gazing up at the dome of the Palace from where the children now played and dreaming of one day doing great works in the name of the Great Lord—just as in his own youth, Azzanadra had gazed up towards the summit of the volcano and prayed to Mother Mah for the strength and might to someday lead the tribe.

As he watched the sculptures take form, the desire within him to manipulate the snow for himself filled him more strongly, taking root firmly in his mind—and suddenly, a thought occurred to him, a thought of the potential that this “mere child’s play” had.

“This gives me an idea,” he remarked, pulling his glove back on. “These constructs of snow… perhaps we could make use of them as part of our priestly duties?”

Silvius looked at him as though he had just said his mother was a muspah. “How so?”

“I do believe it is my turn to say it is better that I show you rather than tell you, Your Holiness.” With that Azzanadra offered a hand, and when his superior accepted it, he teleported the both of them just outside the front of the Palace. Silvius nearly stumbled forward into the snow as they landed on the ground once more, and had to make use of Azzanadra to support and right himself.

There were already young temple students out playing in the snow; their daily lessons must not have commenced yet. Several of them gasped in surprise and hurried through the snow towards the two, quickly bowing their heads in respect. They greeted them with choruses of “Good morning, Your Holiness” and one “Hello, Grampy! Don’t fall down, okay?”

The old priest laughed and brushed the snow off his robe. “You needn’t worry, dear Cecilia. ’Twould take much more than that to knock me off balance! Now then, we have something to show the lot of you—is that not so, Pontifex Azzanadra?”

“Indeed. Gather around, children, and watch…” Once they had all scrambled into a neat half-circle formation and were watching him with rapt attention, Azzanadra closed his eyes and concentrated as he began to gather up the snow around him. Slowly and methodically he shaped the frozen powder, letting his hands do most of the work and using a touch of magic to smooth out the edges and curves.

At last he added the finishing touch, a small raised symbol of Zaros in the center, and stepped to the side of his creation to allow the children to behold it. They regarded it with confused looks and kept glancing around at each other and then back at it again.

It was the familiar child called Cecilia who broke the silence. “Grampy, what’s that he made for us?”

“You truly cannot tell?” Azzanadra raised an eyeridge, frowning, and motioned to his creation. “It is an altar, a shrine. Consider it a reminder that Zaros is ever present, and when you pass by it, stop and take a moment to pray.”

A broad smile spread all the way across Silvius’ countenance. “Now why didn’t I think of this before? Your dedication continues to be immensely remarkable.”

He immediately set about rolling a large ball of snow, and as his granddaughter hurried to help him, the other children cheered and jumped up and down, looking expectantly at Azzanadra. “Make more sculptures! We wanna see more! What else can you make?”

Azzanadra suppressed a sigh, trying to hide his disappointment at the fact that the children had not seemed to understand his point. At least Silvius understood, and would perhaps share the idea with the cardinals and pontifices… perhaps the children were too young to understand the significance of the snow shrine yet?

Well, it would hardly hurt to hone his skills by making other snow creations, so that he could craft better shrines to the glory of Zaros in the future—and the children had clearly been impressed by his display of magic, which he had to admit made his heart swell with pride. How he would have wished to magically create something like these snow sculptures in his own youth, to impress those skeptics in the tribe who had felt a talent for ice was useful for little more than cooling the lava to form houses. In the heat of Freneskae, snow and ice would have turned to steam at once, but here, where it could lie intact all across the surface of the world, his abilities could truly shine.

“Would you care to see a snow Mahjarrat?” he asked, gathering more snow towards him, and the children jumped up and down and gave excited squeals as if to say yes. He could feel their enthralled gazes upon him once more as he set to work again, the image of a familiar female forming in his mind as his hands moved to form her likeness. Deep crimson stripes, a glittering blue gem set in her forehead above bright ruby eyes, dainty little headspines beneath her oversized hood, the bright spark of the first magic she had ever cast… the one child of his that had come with the tribe to Gielinor.

Shyvana.

The one child he had sired that had actually accepted him as her father. The one child he had ever had a direct hand in looking after, albeit a very small and short-lived one; the one child he had at least been able to see grow up and grow strong… And she had been out of range of his shield when Tumeken…

No, he had to focus, had to concentrate. As the magic flowed through his hands, Azzanadra knew in his heart that the path of fate had led him, led his tribe, here. To Senntisten, to the snow, to Zaros’ side… here was where he was meant to be. If only Shyvana, if only any of his children, could be here with him as well.

~***~

_2nd of Fentuary, 169 of the Fifth Age_

“Ice… Burst!”

A chill wind filled the small dark chamber as a flurry of icy shards struck the training dummies that had been neatly lined up in three rows of four. The force of the spell knocked the four dummies in the front row back, causing them to bump into those directly behind them, and each of them was left covered in a layer of frost and thick chunks of ice.

The young adventurer sighed and hung her head. “Aw… I still can’t get it to hit where it needs to hit!”

Azzanadra quietly surveyed the row of frozen dummies, noting the thicker ice coating the middle two. “Were you aiming the spell for the front row, Jaina?”

Jaina shook her head no. “I was trying to hit all of them at once! I think I’ve got the hang of focusing the ice into the shape and form I want, and I can aim Ice Rush and Ice Blitz just fine… I just don’t quite know how to focus these spells to hit multiple targets correctly!”

She had visited him in the temple near daily since assisting him in restoring the portal, and had requested that he train her in the ancient magic of his lord so that she would not have to learn it solely by trial and error. This was only her second lesson, and already Azzanadra found himself even more impressed and intrigued with the purple-haired young mage he had found himself owing much to. In the days of the empire, such magically-inclined humans would have undergone a test to discern where their greatest talents lay in order to determine if they were worth the time and runes to train. Jaina had not needed the test; she was already well aware of her strengths and weaknesses, and had described to him how ice magic came naturally to her whereas she struggled greatly with shadow spells.

It was strange to imagine a human having practiced magic from a very young age as she had, and although she would not be the only such human in this age of plentiful runes, hearing her describe the fundamentals of spellcasting in great detail was nonetheless most remarkable. Strange as well was the fact that she was unfamiliar with spells designed to hit multiple targets at once; any young Mahjarrat would have been taught how to cast and control multiple-target spells as soon as possible. Were the humans of this age so shortsighted as not to realize that such potent spells made battlemages formidable combatants and key assets to military forces? Or was it merely foolish Saradominist superstition that held them back?

It was fortunate for them both that a few rooms from Senntisten had remained untouched by time and not yet excavated by those meddlesome museum workers, including what was now his private quarters and the room they were presently in. This underground chamber had once been an office of the church, used by vyre treasurers to take stock of money and resource inventory for annual financial reports; he had had to move the broken furniture and what little remained of ancient decayed parchments to the museum in order to make room for the lessons.

“Therein lies your problem,” he pointed out, motioning to the middle two frozen dummies. “See the greater concentration of ice here? Burst and Barrage spells require aim and a focal point too; your target will be the center of the spell, and it will hit everything within its radius. While aiming for the front lines—as you have here—would serve to temporarily slow your enemies down, you see how it would give those behind them a chance to escape and regroup, as well as any enemy archers in the back lines an easier time targeting you.”

Jaina nodded and surveyed the dummies, visibly shivering at the mention of archers, and then spun around to gaze at him with widened smoky gray eyes. “So that’s why… that’s what I was doing wrong! I guess I should’ve realized… I thought you had to focus the spell on all of your targets at once.” Her lips curved into a shaky smile. “Well, at least now I have a teacher who will help me catch my mistakes! I’d better try again.”

Again she turned to face the dummies and readied her staff, closing her eyes to concentrate. This time when she cast the spell, the sharp icicles that shot forcefully up from the floor struck and knocked back all but the leftmost three dummies, with the middle right one falling over completely from the force of the large icicle that had slammed into it.

“You are learning quickly!” Azzanadra smiled proudly, nodding his approval. She would surely be an even greater magical powerhouse once she mastered the Barrage spells, and he wondered if he might be able to personally see her prowess in battle eventually. “Perhaps not many more lessons will be needed before you are ready to attempt a Barrage spell.”

“I hope so… well, it won’t be Shadow Barrage, that’s for sure.” Jaina smiled dryly as she turned to look at him, though the smile quickly gave way to the curious expression she bore whenever she questioned him about Zaros, the practices of the faith, or the empire. “Though, about the lessons… are they all necessarily going to be combat-oriented?”

“Why do you ask that?” Azzanadra arched an eyebrow. “Do you not seek to be better able to use the spells of my lord in combat?”

“Well, of course I do, but it seems awfully limiting to just use it for combat…” The purple-haired adventurer glanced at the frozen dummies briefly before she continued. “I know this spellbook was designed to be combative, and that you would want me to be able to obliterate my enemies with devastating power, but surely these spells have more to them than that? Think of all that ice magic alone could do! I could chill a drink on a hot day, make little skating ponds, hold up collapsing building supports temporarily until they could be fixed… why, I could even build a snowman or two! In the summer!”

Curiously he raised an eyebrow further. “Snowman?”

“Well, I guess that’s a bit childish for me to say…” She smiled and laughed awkwardly. “But I’m still rather fond of building snowmen and snow forts in the winter! I always loved to play in the snow and build things with it, and that didn’t exactly go away as I grew.”

“Ah, so you enjoy creating snow sculptures?” Azzanadra remarked, chuckling softly. It was unsurprising that one so well attuned to ice would be so fond of the snow. “That was something I did with my spare time in the winters as well. I have simply never heard them referred to as such before.”

“You did?” Jaina asked, blinking in surprise. “Weren’t you always very busy with high priest duties?”

“Even I had moments to myself, and I sought to make use of them wisely,” he replied, adjusting his hat. “On snowy days I would build small shrines of snow outdoors to remind the faithful to take a moment to stop and pray, to consider that our lord was always watching over them and guiding their path in life. But it was not merely to honor Zaros that I built snow sculptures…”

“What did you make besides the shrines?” Her eyes were brightly lit up, as if she wished to behold his snow creations for herself. “Snow Zaroses? Snowjarrats?”

“No, I did not attempt to create the likeness of my lord; the shrines sufficed for that purpose.” He had never thought he could possibly do Zaros justice with a mere snow sculpture, especially if it would fall down or be knocked over. “Among the sculptures I would build were priests, temple students, musicians, my fellow Mahjarrat…” He hesitated briefly at the next thought that filled his mind, the thought of someone he had not remembered in a long time. “One I made often was a daughter of mine.”

“Oh, you had children?” The adventurer sounded surprised when she said this, although she quickly shook her head. “Wait, I mean, of course you would have had children before with how long you’ve lived; I just never thought about it until you said so!”

“Indeed, and not all to the same mother.” Azzanadra sighed, hanging his head. With all that had happened since he was freed from the pyramid, he had not had time to spare a thought to the children he had long since lost, to Shyvana. It may have been for the better that they had not been around to be sacrificed at Rituals at the hands of the traitors while he was imprisoned, but the pain of their loss would never truly dull with time…

“You seem so sad all of a sudden,” she noted, frowning sympathetically. “Did they…?”

“Yes.” He did not look up or meet her gaze. “Would that I could have had a greater presence, that I could have done more for them…”

“Were you unable to spend time with them because of all your leadership duties?”

Immediately he tensed up as soon as the words were out of her mouth, though she did not seem to notice as she bit her lip and kept going. “I mean, you were terribly busy with running the church, and then with the war, and all… My father was away from home often since he had to work a lot to pay off his debts, but he did manage to still spend time with us and teach me a thing or two…”

Azzanadra could no longer suppress the quiet but harsh growl that escaped his throat. The last thing he had expected to hear from her was a slight against his capabilities, an implication that he would have been an incompetent or neglectful father. “No,” he snapped, his eyes hardening as he regarded her.

Jaina visibly shuddered at that single syllable, uttering a small gasp as she quickly drew back. “What? I… I didn’t mean…” Her smoky gray eyes were wide with shock. “What happened, then?”

“It is different with Mahjarrat,” he replied coldly. Of course she would be ignorant of the matter, given how greatly humans valued the presence of fathers in child-rearing and how little she understood the Mahjarrat—but she must understand that her words had still cut deep, and he felt no less insulted to have heard her so blithely demean him like that. He had been there for Shyvana, done all he could for her, done all he could for the others, and now Jaina would compare him to some lowlife abandoner that humans looked down upon as much as they did fatherless children…

“Different?” Her voice was shaking as she turned her gaze to the floor to avoid his harsh glare. “How, exactly?”

“I was not allowed a hand in their upbringing.” Azzanadra shook his head, sighing deeply. “Perhaps it is best we end this lesson for today. You have already grasped what I was trying to teach you, after all.”

Jaina was already backing further away, looking ashamedly at the floor. “I’m sorry… I… I shouldn’t have asked, I… I didn’t mean to pry into something so personal…”

She slipped on a frozen portion of the floor and stumbled, crying out in alarm as she fell to the floor. Hastily she scrambled to her knees and wordlessly teleported out of the chamber, not daring to look his way. It was clear that she was too ashamed to even look at him, that she was sorry for her slight.

Azzanadra wondered if he had reacted too harshly, if he had frightened her away from seeking further lessons or company with him. She had been fearful of the Mahjarrat because of the traitors, and she had not thought highly of Jhallan either—would she now fear his wrath too greatly to return to the temple? Would she now prefer to seek knowledge of the ways of Zaros from the human faithful? Surely she would at least continue to visit Wahisietel…

He teleported back to the temple chamber and listened for the sound of footsteps nearby before approaching the communion portal and assuming his true form. Bowing his head prayerfully, he spoke in a clear, strong voice. “My lord?”

The deep, low voice that came through the portal seemed to echo throughout the chamber. **_“Azzanadra. Have you news?”_**

“A concern, actually,” Azzanadra said, gazing at the portal. “In regards to the human who has aided me so greatly—to Jaina. I fear my actions may have potentially frightened her away.”

He explained what had happened, and the portal was quiet for a long moment. Then at last the voice of Zaros filled the chamber again. **_“Fear can be a powerful force if allowed to control one’s actions, but so too can curiosity. I do not believe the human’s curiosity has come close to being sated, and it is for this reason—as well as the fact that she has no other instructor who can teach her about my spells—that I believe she is likely to seek you out again. If you wish her to overcome her fears of the Mahjarrat, of other races, then you must teach her more about your kind and your ways. She must come to understand you.”_**

Azzanadra nodded steadfastly. Hearing such words from his lord instilled him with hope, the hope that he would soon see Jaina again, that she would become a truly powerful battlemage who could hold her own against even the traitors under his tutelage. Of course she had spoken purely out of ignorance and had meant no harm, and if she was to truly understand the glory of Zaros, she must also come to understand the Mahjarrat.

“Yes, my lord, I will.”

~***~

_20th of Rintra, 2 of the Sixth Age_

“So what kinds of names do Mahjarrat give their babies?” Jaina asked as she made her way through the snow. “These two do need proper names—it won’t be much longer now before they arrive!”

“It is not accurate to say that we are given names, so much as that we are born with our names,” Azzanadra replied, glancing at her belly. “A mother will form a telepathic bond with her child in the womb, and it is through this bond that the child conveys his or her name, as well as whether he or she is a boy or a girl. Some names are inherited, others are entirely new, but the child knows… I do not believe you have had such an experience with our children, no?”

“No, nothing like that… I don’t even know if they’re girls, boys, or a girl and a boy yet! I could try casting Contact on them though?” She frowned, looking around at the snow-covered courtyard. “But I’m not sure if they would innately know their names like that… I think I would’ve noticed if they were trying to reach out to my mind anyway! Oh, I’ve got to think of something that would reasonably be a Mahjarrat name…”

They were walking in the courtyard of Ghorrock, and although the fortress had long since thawed out, there was still a good deal of snow on the ground outside at this time of year. The reason they were here was, in part, because today marked the anniversary of Jaina’s birth; she was now in her nineteenth year, to be precise. Indeed she was right that the children would be due very soon; her stomach had grown quite large, she was no longer able to run, and she had been leaning on Azzanadra for support as needed and holding his hand securely. It still floored him that he could be so close to his children, that she enjoyed having him be that close to her, to them… that the path of fate could have led him to someone like her…

Considering names to suggest to her made him wonder if human fathers tended to be confident about what they wished to name their children, or if they would be as uncertain as he was and prefer to leave the task to their wives. Then again, human males could not understand just how fortunate they were to have such simple worries as conferring a name upon a child—he was indeed fortunate to realize what that was like now, what with Gielinor being a much safer place to raise a child. Even with the traitors at large and his many duties to Zaros, he could not foresee many difficulties save for chasing off the turncoats if they dared try anything—duties or no duties, he would have much more time to bond with them than any other Mahjarrat father had ever had.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the sudden sound of another voice—his own? “I’ve a tiny gift for you, my dear. For your human celebration!”

Jaina uttered a surprised gasp and opened the flap of her bag to peek inside. “Oh? Might it be my shard back?”

“You know that I must hold onto it for safekeeping.” There was a rustling from within the bag before a small Mahjarrat doll poked his head out of it, not unlike those of Lucien and Hazeel that she kept in her home—but this one resembled Azzanadra perfectly, and had the crystal sliver of Zaros’ body that the Empty Lord had gifted Jaina clutched firmly against his chest. “Besides, it was a gift from our lord, was it not? Neither I nor my not-so-tiny counterpart would be worthy to present you with it! No, behold this gift that I have procured for you.”

Ducking down into the bag, the doll reemerged with a freshly picked snowdrop in one tiny hand, brandishing it proudly. “It may not be a miniature book of spells, but it does suit you!”

“It’s… it’s lovely…” Jaina accepted the flower and looked it over, and Azzanadra’s eyes darted between her and the doll of himself.

“Jaina, where did you find that?”

“Oh—you mean Tiny Azzanadra?” A shaky grin crossed her face as she looked up at him. “Well, you see, I was visiting the faithful earlier today to ask about names for the children, and I stopped by the pyramid where we first met—I wanted to reflect on how far we’d come, tell the little ones about how we met and how it changed my path forever. And, well, I heard your voice call out to me, and when I looked around I saw him step out from behind the altar! He insisted on coming along with me at once, said he would be Zaros’ tiny eyes and ears and help keep the children and me company when we’re apart.”

“I shall not fail my lord in that task,” the doll declared proudly, doing his best to puff out his chest while still grasping the shard. “They will be in good tiny hands!”

“And you do not know how my small self came to be there or where he may have come from?” Azzanadra eyed his tiny likeness, wondering if the construct was a creation of Zaros meant to help him keep an eye on the children when he had duties to attend to. But that would not explain the small constructs of Lucien and Hazeel…

“No, and I don’t know how long he was there for either,” she replied. “Just that he was quite keen to accompany me! And that he isn’t going to give the shard back any time soon.”

“I shall not keep our lord’s gift to myself when it was rightfully given to you,” Tiny Azzanadra told her insistently. “I merely seek to keep it safe! It must not fall from your bag or be exposed to any tiny hazards.”

Azzanadra was going to remark on how he didn’t quite know what to make of his tiny likeness’ behavior, but before he could say anything, Jaina suddenly uttered a loud cry and nearly stumbled forward, and he had to quickly pull her close. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“Whoa, little ones, go easy on me!” the adventurer exclaimed, looking down at her stomach. Catching her breath, she tucked the snowdrop into the fur-lined collar of her coat and nodded up at him. “I’m fine, it’s just… you see, they’re kicking! And, well, they can be a little forceful sometimes… Do you want to feel it?”

He knew he should no longer be surprised at her making such offers that no Mahjarrat mother ever would have, but he could not help but be astonished at it regardless. “I would indeed…”

She smiled brightly and guided his hand to her stomach, and sure enough he felt a tiny kick beneath his hand… and then another, almost as if both of them seemed to feel him so close by. How strong their life-forces burned now, too… did they, perhaps, feel his and know him as their father? Would they know him at once when they were born? Would it take them time to accept him?

“I do think they’re quite impatient to come out already,” she remarked, “and I can tell they’re eager to meet you! See, you two, your father is here…” She regarded the snowdrop and eyed the others in bloom around the courtyard. “These flowers… it’s hard not to wonder how they grow in the snow in the middle of winter, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, it was always a mystery to me how such a delicate form of life could not just exist, but flourish, at all.” Azzanadra let his gaze fall on the snowdrops as well, still resting his hand on her stomach. “Perhaps, I suspect, humans find meaning in flowers because of how similar they are to your kind. Numerous, soft and fragile in form and appearance, prized for their beauty… The snowdrop in particular stands out because of how it thrives in the harsh cold, how it blooms in the snow where other flowers would shrivel and wither. Its soft appearance belies a great inner strength and determination, much like you…”

“My larger counterpart puts it quite eloquently and accurately,” Tiny Azzanadra chimed in. “I could think of no better gift to celebrate your human occasion with! Consider wearing it in your hair.”

Jaina’s cheeks flushed slightly red, and she tucked the snowdrop carefully into her hair. “Have you always been fascinated by flowers like that? I’ve never thought about why flowers hold so much meaning, but when you put it that way…”

“Not as much as snow has always intrigued me, but I have indeed found flowers to be one of Gielinor’s more curious features since I first saw them,” Azzanadra said, nodding his approval. “In addition to the snowdrops that thrive here, the flowers and fruit trees that grew on the great volcano near Carrallangar were of great interest. The volcano reminded my kin and I of the one on Freneskae, yet it only erupted with lava twice during our time in the empire. When it slumbered, many colorful flowers and fruits grew upon the mountainside, and the humans gladly ate of the fruits and made use of the flowers as gifts and herbal remedies. They did not fear that the volcano might suddenly awaken—they were merely grateful for the bounties that sprang from its soil.”

“I should have liked to have seen it,” she murmured a bit sadly, and let out a gasp as one of the children kicked again. “There you go again! Just a little bit longer, both of you… Soon, very soon, you’ll be here, with your father and me! It’s hard to believe…”

She glanced around at the snowy courtyard again. “Though, speaking of snow… isn’t that what we’re here for? Look at all of it…”

As reluctant as Azzanadra was to remove his hand from her belly, she was right; they had come here for a purpose. He had to admit he was keen to see what she would create, and if she would use magic or just her hands to do so.

“Indeed,” he remarked, and set about drawing a large pile of snow to him. “I am quite eager to see what you can do with it!”

“And I shall craft a tiny snow sculpture as well!” Tiny Azzanadra tucked the shard carefully back into Jaina’s bag and leapt, landing face first into a large mound of snow at her feet. The Mahjarrat found himself uncertain whether the sight of a small likeness of himself sprawled out and face-planted into the snow was comical enough to laugh at or not.

Jaina seemed to think it was, as she giggled softly and knelt down carefully to pick up the doll. “Be careful! I wouldn’t want you to get buried.”

She brushed the snow off Tiny Azzanadra and tucked him into her coat collar, paying no heed to his disappointed huff, and proceeded to gather the snow in front of her. Azzanadra found himself glancing her way several times, and not just at the sculpture she was making. He already knew what his sculpture would be—he was looking at the subject whose likeness he would capture just now, with her radiant features and her form so swollen with new life. Truly Zaros had blessed him… he wished only that the children were able to share directly in this moment as well.

**Author's Note:**

> And finally done with yet another piece that took me way too long to finish! I guess you could consider this an early Christmas special.
> 
> Writing Azzanadra's point of view can be tricky in many ways, in no small part because of his very formal and verbose speech patterns. I also had to be careful writing the archaic speech for the initial scene so it didn't sound forced and over the top. There's quite a bit of headcanoning over here this time--in particular, I see Azzanadra as having seen it as his duty as a leader of his tribe to father strong children, and taking as much pride in being a father as he does in being a leader. During the days of the empire, though, he would have been too focused on his duties to Zaros and the church to have time for relations. (He is indeed implied to canonically have a particular command of ice magic in "The Old Blood," in a scene where he creates an ice clone to trick Lowerniel Drakan--so that's not just me.)
> 
> I've been wanting Jaina to find Tiny Azzy for some time now, and this seemed the perfect opportunity to do so! His behavior was partly inspired by a certain artwork by Laetitia_Laetitii~
> 
> Sorry if this one seems a little too sweet/fluffy... I promise you there will be mostly dramatics and action in the next installment. And if it seems like the empire's being painted as too idealized--well, this is Azzanadra's point of view; of course he's going to think of the empire as wonderful and be blind to its multitude of problems.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, and I hope you enjoy!


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